


Harvest Moon

by MrsMess



Series: Harvest Moon [1]
Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Cabin Fic, Conversations, Existential Crisis, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Forced Proximity, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Intimacy, Literary References & Allusions, Literati, Love, Musical References, Nature, POV Female Character, Present Tense, Sex, Sharing a Bed, Talking, i guess, pre-Revival, seriously, talk talk talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-18 17:18:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11879166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsMess/pseuds/MrsMess
Summary: If Jess is here this weekend might be very different from what she's imagined. There’s no way her mom knew this. And, damn it, she’s going to have to drive back to Connecticut immediately, right?"What are you doing here?" She half-whines. "And more importantly how did you get in? I’ve got the only set of keys.""I do not need keys," he says, tone almost insulted. "Especially not to some dump that hasn’t had it locks changed since the forties.""Great. Jess Mariano, the felon. You here to practice home invasion techniques?"He snorts."Hardly. Come on, I’ll show you."





	1. Day One

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place before, and would derail some of the events of, the revival.  
> Rory drives to Luke's fishing cabin for some time alone after Richard's death. Only she’s not alone. When she arrives she finds Jess there, fixing the place up for Luke.  
> Mature for sexual content and dirty words, but also pretty dark subject matter and iffy behavior.  
> Title is from the Neil Young-song although I mainly listened to the Poolside-cover while writing this.  
> I'm missismess on tumblr and appreciate visits there as well, there's plenty of fan art for this fandom as well as others.

 

 

You go back, Jack, and do it again.

Wheel turnin’ round and round.

You go back, Jack, and do it again.

-Steely Dan, Do It Again

 

The sun is low as she finally finds the right fricking road. By then all she has is Lorelai’s directions. The GPS can’t find the place so she has to stop several times to squint at her mother’s hand writing on the back of an envelope. It seems she’s been on the road all day. The drive was supposed to take five hours but has almost doubled. To be fair; not even in her state of restlessness could she drag herself up in time to avoid the traffic, and she’s not used to driving far stretches by herself, so she’s had to make more stops than what might have been necessary; for many coffees and subsequent bathroom breaks. Highway 91 was easy enough, but as soon as she got off it and started working her way laterally across the map it’s gotten increasingly difficult to follow directions. It takes a wrong turn and some very upsetting forest roads before she’s finally on the right track. To be honest, this road isn’t much better than the last one but has the perk of being the right one, so she handles it better.

 

A cabin finally appears, or maybe that’s too generous a term. A large shed seems more like it. Box-shaped, placed on blocks to accommodate the rugged terrain. The road turns abruptly towards the house and she has to step on the break to avoid another car that’s blocking the driveway. It’s a black going on grey old Saab. There is no more road beyond this address, so there’s no real reason for a car to be here and there’s no way Luke would leave an extra vehicle exposed to the elements like that when he’s only here about twice a year.

Her thoughts scramble for a few seconds before landing at possible helpful neighbor, or serial killer... in a Saab. She turns the engine off and slowly opens the door, turning her head, eyes darting over her field of vision. She gets out and doesn’t close the door, but opens the trunk, picking out the tire iron. With it in hand she warily walks up the driveway. On the surface the place is only idyllic; warm rays of sun peeking through the foliage, golden to green, reaching the mossy forest floor. The constant chirping of birds, and the lower buzzing if insects, sometimes close and visible as fluttering shadows in the air. But inside she’s visualizing every horror movie she’s seen.

 

She’s almost at the cabin’s front door when she feels a tug in the middle of a step. Something traps her tire iron holding hand and forces her to a stop. She hears a familiar voice right behind her.

"Woah."

She twirls around and finds herself face to face, hand in hand with Jess, who’s sporting a pretty impressive beard, which leads to an extra micro second of terror before she recognizes him.

"Holy sh- You scared me!"

"Hey, you’re the one with the weapon."

"For self-defense!"

"And by day it’s just a tire iron. Now put it down."

She sighs and drops it. He lets go of her wrist. She regroups. If Jess is here this weekend might be very different from what she's imagined. There’s no way her mom knew this. And, damn it, she’s going to have to drive back to Connecticut immediately, right?

"What are you doing here?" She half-whines. "And more importantly how did you get in? I’ve got the only set of keys."

"I do not need keys," he says, tone almost insulted. "Especially not to some dump that hasn’t had it locks changed since the forties."

"Great. Jess Mariano, the felon. You here to practice home invasion techniques?"

He snorts.

"Hardly. Come on, I’ll show you."

 

He turns and walks further up the pathway, but takes off to the side of the cabin before reaching the door. She follows. They make their way to the back, across a cobbled terrace overgrown with weeds. As they reach the edge he gestures to the clearing behind the house, and points to a tool on the ground.

"Did you – Geez, is that a scythe?"

"Yup. It did not occur to me that I would have to do this type of work to even get to the path to the lake, or I would have brought a mower. Instead I had to use what’s available. This was all Hops this morning, hopeless to make your way through." He pulls up his sleeve to reveal his wrist, bruised by thorns.

"So you’re, what? Fixing the place up?"

"Well, Luke never does it! I’ve been up here with and without him like ten times and it always looks like shit and all he talks about is what needs fixing and that he’s just about to do it. He doesn’t have the time, I do."

"Does he know about this?"

"Do you think he’d let me if he did?"

"I guess not.” She pauses for reevaluation. “It’s really nice of you."

"I’m a nice person," he allows with a crooked smile.

She smiles against her will, the first time in a while.

"What about you? You’re probably the last person I’d expect to show up out here."

Darn. She grasps for a response.

"Uhm… I’ve been feeling like I can’t,” she interrupts herself. “I just… needed a change of scenery. My mom said Luke had a cabin he didn’t use, gave me the keys."

He nods. She sighs.

"But I guess, it’s taken, so I’ll just-"

"No!” He looks genuinely upset by the prospect of her leaving. “No way. You’d blow my cover if you left. And your mom would kill me if I let you get back in that car at this hour. It’d take you ‘til after midnight to get to Stars Hollow, if you’re that lucky, I got lost the first three times I was up here."

She stares at him, head askew, considering it.

"Look, if you feel you gotta go, fine. Just wait ‘til tomorrow. I was gonna start on dinner now anyway."

"But what about the space?" She starts hesitantly. "I’m having a hard time believing Luke has the place prepared for more than one person."

Jess smiles with obvious relief at her half-concession.

"True. But the place was built for the outdoors anyway. The only trouble is sleeping arrangements, but there’s a couch, push comes to shove I can sleep in my car. We’ll figure it out."

She gives in.

"Okay."

"You need help bringing your stuff in?"

"No."

"Okay. Go fix what you need to and come on in. I’ll start on dinner and give you the very short tour."

 

He follows her around to the front and heads up the stairs and in through the door. She returns to her car and the trunk. She questions bringing her supplies to the house, self-conscious all of a sudden. She shopped for the trip on instinct, which she knows isn’t very good, but she didn’t know her incompetence would be exposed to someone with likely better priorities. Then she swallows the feeling and grabs the bag, it’s not as if she’ll bring it back to civilization anyway. She grabs her overnight bag too and heads into the cabin.

 

The hallway is the kitchen, and everything else for that matter. The cabin is really just one room. The tiny kitchen to the left, where Jess hunches, opening a can of something. One of two small windows is over the stove and lets one see the driveway. The other is at the end of the room, just over the bed – really a mattress laid out on what looks like a big wooden box, with knobs along the side, implying storage. The setup reminds her of the interior of an RV, at least the ones she’s seen pictures of. Between the bed and kitchen is a small square table of untreated wood, thankfully with chairs on opposing sides.

 

The couch is opposing the bed, and she walks up to it and puts down her bag. The cloth in brown tones, zig zagging between orange and green and the structure seems suspiciously like loop pile carpet. More to the point; it’s small. Maybe five and a half feet across and about two deep. She skeptically regards it. Then sits down. The springs give off a loud moan. Jess turns at the sound and walks over looking a bit embarrassed.

"Sorry. I should have warned you." He reaches out a hand to help her up which she grabs. Standing up, hand in hand, they regard each other awkwardly. She considers commenting the so-called couch but decides against it, it’s too late to back out anyway. By now the visible strips of sky looks distinctly pink through the window.

"Are you okay with beans and bacon? It’s probably the last chance to eat it before it goes bad."

"It’s fine," she says. "How long have you been here?"

"Got here Monday night. Checked the place out on Tuesday to see what needed doing, then drove to town to shop for supplies. Started working today."

"So, how are modern comforts around here?"

He smiles amused.

"Limited. There’s small fridge with a freezer pocket, but it runs on the generator out back, which has probably been there as long as the locks, and is just as reliable."

"Oh."

"Yeah. And about the bathroom: it’s an earth closet with a septic tank."

"You’re kidding."

"Nope. You have to enter through a separate door. Here, I’ll show you."

 

He leads the way out the front door and down from the minuscule porch, then around the right side of the cabin to a door, and swings it open. There’s a wooden bench with a white ring in it. She looks around. It looks clean and doesn’t feel drafty. Smells like a toilet, for sure, but better than the public restrooms she visited on the way here. A bit like pine. Then she sees a Wunderbaum attached to the cord of a naked light bulb dangling from the ceiling. She lets out a laugh and shakes her head.

"And no running water?"

"You use the pump out front for everything."

"I don’t suppose you could put in some pipes and make this an indoor bathroom while you’re at it?"

"Yeah right. I’m not that useful."

She looks at him.

"Sure you are. I was not prepared. I’m starting to feel really blessed that you were here."

He smiles broadly, rare.

"I better fix the food."

"Can I help?"

"Nope. Sit on the porch for a while if you like, I assume you brought a book or ten. It’s better to make use of the daylight while you can. When it gets dark it’s really dark."

 

She follows his advice but never gets around to even opening her book. Instead she stares out into the woods. It's darker now, and the sounds have changed. The porch on which she's sitting has a roughly carved bench sticking out from the cabin's timber, and a table of the same construction. It seems to be used mostly for cleaning mushrooms and berries, and possibly even gutting fish, judging from the old stains covering the table. She thinks about how this wasn't at all what she expected, but immediately counters herself with the question why. It makes perfect sense that Luke wouldn't change anything unless he had to. At home he has to compromise with her mother and he's always been a traditionalist. For a second she considers that maybe the work Jess intends to do on the place might not really be welcome.

And then she thinks about her grandfather.

The trunks of the trees have lost a lot of color from the fading light, and it’s more difficult making sense of them now. It’s a world of jagged stripes.

 

Before falling to deep into thoughts Jess opens a crack in the window.

"Food's ready. Better eat inside, the bugs get pretty annoying in the evening."

She sneaks a peek at him through the window as he puts food on their plates by the kitchen counter. It’s been years since they last met and she’s fascinated by the subtle changes as well as the more obvious ones; he’s broader, distinctly heavier, longer hair, but the movements, expressions, the same, the eyes. They find her at that moment and she twitches.

"Coming."

 

She walks inside and sits down at the table, putting her book next to her. He glances at it while putting down the plates.

"I really liked that one," he says.

"Yeah, I’m enjoying it a lot, he’s so much better in his shorter novels."

"You think?"

"Yeah! I tried reading American Gods and it was just too dense for me."

"Okay.” He puts up his hands, gesturing for her to stop. “Blasphemy. And too dense, miss I-read-the-fountainhead-at-age-ten? What are you talking about?"

"Well, his language is so minimalistic, ambiguous, like, it demands a lot from the reader’s imagination, so it’s really hard reading such a big book in that style."

"You’re nuts."

"No, hear me out; when you’re dealing with someone like Rand, to build on your eloquent remark, there’s no ambiguity, it’s all there; her truth. It’s not open to interpretation. So, it’s like reading the Iliad, or something. But with Gaiman you constantly have to apply yourself, add your own take to give the story meaning, and that’s… hard work, sometimes. I think that’s why I prefer his shorter novels, because they create spaces for you to exist-“ She hears how she sounds but decides to just go with it, gesturing excessively and vaguely as she speaks. “Just not actual places, but places inside, where you can plant your own seeds, and actually… watch them grow."

He tosses a dish towel at her, and she laughs, while his smile decreases in size but turns warmer.

"I’m glad you’re here," he says.

 

The food is okay. Her culinary experience is almost entirely based on different types of semifinished products, but always by choice rather than necessity, and classic canned foods or army surplus has never really been on the proverbial table.

 

She gets stuck looking at him and he raises his eyebrows mid-chew.

"What’s with the beard?" She says. "You look like Paul Bunyan."

"So… bad?" He replies.

She opens her mouth for a witty retort, but pauses and squints at him.

"No." She finally says.

"Good. But there’s no real answer, I’m having sort of a summer hiatus for editing a few books and don’t need to meet anyone important until next month."

She smiles mischievously.

"And what happens then besides the beard going? What does Jess Mariano say? What does he wear?"

"Hey, if you wanna mock me, that’s fine, but I’m betting twenty bucks you don’t walk around with shaved legs unless you’re on your way to an interview or date."

"You comparing facial hair to leg hair?"

"Shouldn’t I?"

"I don’t know. Do you shave your legs for any occasion?"

"Fair enough. I might if I had to wear pantyhose."

"Of course you would. And if I could grow facial hair I would immediately acquire a mustache."

"Like Twain."

"Obviously.” She pauses. “But no, you’re right about the leg hair."

He laughs.

 

"So, what's on the agenda for tomorrow?" She asks.

"More gardening, I think. Was gonna fix the terrace today as well, but I'm behind schedule 'cause of that damn scythe."

She chuckles.

"So, I'll do that and try to clear a bit of the mess around the founding too. In fact, I better get to bed."

"Okay, I'll make up the couch."

"I'm taking the couch!"

"No way! That thing is teensy and you have a couple of inches on me at least."

"Lies!"

"Stand up and let's see you, mister!"

He gets up, and she stands up also. The ceiling of the cabin is low, and she thinks if she stands on her toes, she can almost bump it with her head. She takes a brave step up to Jess who's consciously slumping to seem shorter. She reaches her hand behind his back and drags a fingernail along his spine. His body jerks, and stretches to its full length at the touch while he's laughing through his nose. They´re a couple of inches apart and she looks up into his eyes, smiling triumphantly. Granted, the difference isn't huge, but none the less there. He looks back at her and gives her a surprisingly warm smile.

"Fine," he sighs. "There are extra sheets in the drawer under the bed."

 

She makes the couch and heads out to use the toilet. She stops in her tracks on the porch, and nearly turns to run from the red spaceship protruding through the trees. It actually takes her a moment to register that it is in fact the moon rising she’s looking at. She manages to keep herself from looking around for werewolves, but it simply seems supernatural.

"Jess!" She calls.

The door opens and next thing he’s standing beside her.

"Wow," comes from him. She turns her head to look at him in surprise, he’s rarely sounds taken by anything. He looks genuinely impressed. Then he opens his mouth and howls quietly while turning his eyes to her.

"Right?" She smiles.

 

The couch is disastrous. Lumpy, creaky, too short, and the cloth is itchy even through the sheet, making her skin crawl. After an hour of tossing and turning, her thoughts grow increasingly paranoid. Who uses this material on a piece of furniture that stands in an empty shed the better part of a year? God knows what she’s sharing the couch with. The thought makes her mind race and body sweat, despite the crispier night air. She turns another time, trying to find a comfortable balance between hot and cold. The springs creak accordingly.

 

"You really should learn Stairway to Heaven on that thing." Comes Jess' voice from the dark.

"Chopsticks is more likely." She retorts.

"Are you comfortable there?"

"No." She pouts.

"We’ll switch," he immediately offers.

"No!” she barks. She feels so useless. She’d be the first gazelle eaten in the zombie apocalypse. And he’s so nice, and now he’ll be missing sleep because of it. "Is there room over there?"

A silent pause follows.

"Yeah. At least I think so. You could give it a try."

She grabs her blanket and gets up.

 

She gets in bed beside him. It's not so bad, the bed is wider than it looks and the warmth radiating off him is actually nice, the temperatures drop distinctly at night, apparently.

"Are you okay?" Comes Jess voice from the darkness after a while, polite more than anything else.

"Yeah. Thanks," she says.

Seems so small to give as an answer when the bed, as well as his company makes her feel so much better; calm and warm. Her chest aches slightly from just the physical sensation.

 

"I heard about your grandfather."

She freezes, like she has every time Richard Gilmore has come up in conversations the last few weeks, calculating her reaction for a second before realizing that no one’s watching. It’s pitch black, and she’s next to Jess, who she could never hide anything from anyway. A loud sob bursts out of her. And then she’s crying like she hasn’t in all the time since he passed. Body shaking, fighting for air. Ugly cries making their way from her chest up her throat. Too lost to it to care. She doesn’t know how long it goes on, but a warm hand, fingers trailing the side of her face to her neck and gently squeezing it, make the sobs fade. Using his hold on her, he turns her face to his, and she feels his forehead against hers a moment later.

"I’m so sorry," he says.

They fall asleep like that.

 

She dreams of dark earth. It moves like a quake. Covering everything. Mindscape after mindscape is drowned by it, until there’s just one scenery left. A young girl by a table in a meadow, a glass of lemonade. The darkness doesn’t even slow down before swallowing her whole. She wakes up gasping. She stares into the black and twists her body closer to Jess to anchor herself to something real.


	2. Day Two

 

 

Give me something.

Give me something to give.

-Patti Smith, Privilege (Set Me Free)

 

She wakes up flush against her bed partner. His breath on her neck, arm flung over her waist and body in line with hers. In a flash she’s aware of exactly where they touch and where it’s just barely. Dawn grows golden outside the window. She’s intensely conflicted. Her grief-ridden, newly woken self wants to be engulfed by him. The room smells like unattended summer house, and it’s nippy. He smells nice, human, and is warm. But he’s not just anyone. Instinct still makes her close any distance between them. A low groan vibrates in his chest, and his hand moves to her tummy stroking her under the t-shirt. She lies still, relishing it, the anticipation distracting her from everything else. His hand lands at her hip and squeezes it slightly. She can’t help a sharp breath and his body stiffens, hand releasing its pressure on her skin. He lies still for a second before putting some distance between them. The unreasonable part of herself is disappointed even if it’s all the way it should be. She stares into the still murky room for a few moments, waiting for further reactions from him, but nothing. She stretches her body, slowly turning to face him. He’s awake, obviously, eyes trailing her face, but he himself remaining unreadable.

 

"Morning," she says, forcing an innocent smile.

He mirrors it after a beat.

"You sleep alright?"

She hesitates.

"Eventually. How ‘bout you? Crowded?"

"No."

Damn him and his poker face, she thinks, experiencing the familiar frustration of being with him. She breaks eye contact.

"I need coffee."

"Of course," he smirks, rolls out of bed, and pulls on his pants and tee. "I’ll put on the water for you."

"Wait a minute, the water?"

"For the instant coffee."

"Excuse me?"

"You don’t seriously expect Euell Gibbons to keep a coffee maker up here?"

It hadn’t even occurred to her. The idea of a coffee-less existence too outlandish.

"Oh man!"

"Don’t worry, it’s not so bad once you get used to it, and it certainly beats the alternative."

"What’s that?"

"No coffee?"

She gasps.

He grabs the white plastic water container and shakes it lightly. A few sad drops splashes around the bottom.

"I’ll be right back."

 

He heads out the front door. She sits up in bed, taking inventory of her situation. No running water, no indoor plumbing, dank shed, bugs, no Danish, no fricking coffee. She gets up and pulls out her make-up mirror from her bag. Her eyes are still a bit rosy from last night and she’s vulnerable just from facing herself. This is not what she had in mind for the weekend. And yet… She looks out the kitchen window at Jess pumping up water in the can. It feels different. That’s something. Since her grandfather died it’s been bad, lonely. Her mother has been too tied up in her own complicated grief for the two of them to connect properly. It’s probably because she cried, but this morning seems… softer somehow. She finds she’s more curious about this place than freaked out by it.

 

Jess returns, pours water into a tin pot and places it on the stove. She pushes to his side.

"So, how do you work one of these things? Rub two sticks together?"

He looks at her with raised eyebrows for a second before grabbing a lighter from the spice rack and putting her hand to the right knob. He twists it with her and lights the gas. She blushes.

"Thanks."

"There’s a boiled egg in the fridge, and I’ll make toast if you want some."

"Yes please."

As soon as the water boils she takes her first crack at instant coffee. She twists her face with disdain at the taste. Jess laughs.

"I can’t believe I’m considering creamer."

"Do you know how bad that is for you?"

"No, I had no idea. Thank god you were here to tell me, Luke."

"My point is; there’s none on the premises, you’re more likely to find cocaine."

"Doesn’t matter, I think I bought evaporated milk yesterday."

She rummages through her bag of canned goods, pulls out an item and hands it to Jess who starts laughing again.

"This is condensed milk."

"What’s the difference?"

He shrugs.

"With instant coffee? Maybe nothing. Give it a try, how bad can it be?"

She takes another gulp of her so-called coffee but it’s still horrid. He’s right. She opens the can and stirs down a teaspoon of the syrupy liquid, has a sip, and laughs.

"It’s actually not terrible, and certainly not worse. So, win, I guess."

He shakes his head.

 

They sit down outside for breakfast. Side by side on the small bench on the porch. Scraping portion served spotty butter on their pieces of toast, she peels and eats her egg, drinking water and another few gulps from her not too heinous coffee drink.

"So, you wanna talk about yesterday? About your grandfather?"

"No," she answers with a dismissive smile, like she has all along. "I’m fine." She hears herself while remembering the sounds she made in the silent cabin last night. A shiver runs through her and she meets his serious gaze. For a second he looks like he’s going to tear into her lie with his significant ability, but then his face softens and he speaks again.

"I never met him. And Luke mentioned some intriguing things about the man. Color me curious, tell me about him."

She tilts her head, knows what he’s up to, devious Jess, but obliges him anyhow.

"Fine. He was a big man, cast a big shadow, you know? Which could be scary, but he was really kind… to me, and-" she pauses. Struggles to find something unequivocally good about him that her mother couldn’t turn around to show her the backside of. "Look, it doesn’t even matter. How he was. Sometimes I think the eulogies have it all wrong, like, it doesn’t matter what he was like, because sometimes he was and sometimes he wasn’t, so, what really should matter is…" she falters.

"What he did," Jess finishes.

"Right," she says. "That’s how we love people anyway, based on their actions rather than… I mean, you don’t love someone for having a sense of humor, ‘cause everyone does in a way, you love them for making you laugh. And I remember him taking me golfing, defending me when my paternal grandparents were horrible, and him holding me when I really didn’t deserve it…"

"Sounds like he loved you."

Tears burn in her eyes again, and she bites the inside of her cheek to keep them at bay.

"Yeah," she breathes. "Maybe the way he should have loved my mom. Like, he should have been more supportive of her, and that’s just a can of worms, so that’s why I’m… here."

 

After breakfast she boils water, mixes with cold from the can and does the dishes from yesterday and what little there is from breakfast. He’s already outside working to clear the foundation and area under the porch. She finds a lounger covered in cobweb in the only closet. She brushes off the chair, brings out her laptop and sits down with her back to the clearing.

She has a deadline next Friday and tries to work on the text, getting nowhere. Her attention keeps getting snatched by sounds and movements, animals big and small, wind through trees. And the rest of the time it’s just the light, color and structure of the place and how strangely breathtaking it is. She glares at the cursor at her screen but it still doesn’t help.

 

She gets up instead and walks the short distance down the clearing. There’s a barely distinguishable path leading away from the house.

"Hey, is this the way to the lake?"

Jess looks up.

"Yeah. I was gonna go down there in a day or two and clear it on the way."

"Huh."

She regards the cabin. Now, that she’s really paying attention she notices the flaking paint, the green algae climbing from the ground, and the cracked wood underneath it all. Even she can tell that the place could use some work. She looks at him going at it. He tears away handfuls of shrubbery with surprising speed.

"So, if you get Rabies from some scared raccoon, how long do I have to get you to safety?"

He smiles grimly.

"Actually, Lyme disease is more likely ‘round here." He winks at her. "You might have to check me for tics later."

"Geez!"

 

She continues her walk along the wall of the cabin. Finds the generator in a closet by the toilet. And a broom. She grabs it and dusts off the machine, clears the spider-webs off the low ceiling and wipes the floor around it. A vast improvement, she thinks, and it couldn’t have taken more than a few minutes. Encouraged by the simple progress she brings the broom with her as she continues walking. She repeats the cleaning procedure on the porch, and starts brushing off the terrace. To her delight, some of the weeds are beaten by this. The moss doesn’t budge however. She finds a pocket knife in the kitchen and brings it out. Gets on her knees and starts pulling the moss and dandelions between the stones with her hands, using the knife when necessary. She’s surprised at how satisfying it is. After a while Jess rounds the corner stopping in his tracks. She looks up.

"I’m helping."

"You don’t have to."

"You’re behind schedule, right?"

"Right." He walks off but returns moments later with a push hoe. "Use this. It’ll be quicker."

 

They break for lunch a little while later, heating tomato soup and making toast.

 

He joins her afterwards, brushing remnants of moss off the stone behind her. Soon they’re scraping their way around the cabin. She catches him glancing and smirking at her and that turns it in to a contest, that she winds up too involved in. A hot pain burns at the base of her index finger, she drops the hoe.

"Shoot!”

“What?”

“I got a splinter." She covers her hand in her other, scared to look.

"Let me see." She feels him taking her hand and unfolding it in his. "It’s deep. Can you pull it?"

"I can’t even look at it! Is it bad?"

"It’s a splinter, not a stake through the heart." She hears the amusement in his voice.

"You don’t know my traumatic history! Once, when I was a kid, I got a splinter from Miss Patty’s floor that went right through the pad of my foot."

"Seems appropriate," he mumbles while pushing on the splinter with one hand and pulling at it with the other. "How’d you handle the crisis?"

"Well, you see, my mom was too freaked out to touch it, so it was just a mess of us trying avoid my foot while getting to the hospital."

"You went to the hospital over a splinter?"

"No! Luke showed up with these big pair of forceps-"

He starts laughing.

"And my mom had to hold my hand, but it didn’t really help, ‘cause she was just as upset and Luke pulled the thing from me. Surprisingly graceful with forceps, that one."

"He is good with a tool," Jess says. "Hold on now, don’t get grossed out, just one more-" he interrupts himself and puts his lips to her finger. Her heart stops beating. He opens his mouth slightly feeling out the splinter with the tip of his tongue for a split second before grabbing the tiny edge of it with his teeth pulling it out. The sting makes her wince.

"Sorry," he shows her the splinter, while rubbing her finger with his thumb.

For a moment she wants his mouth on her, anywhere really, so bad she’s taken aback by it. She swallows hard. He meets her eyes, with the trace of a smile on his lips.

 

"Logan called me," she blurts out, and is dumbfounded at why. She scrambles for a way to continue. "My college boyfriend."

He stares at her blankly.

"I remember. What’d he want?"

"Say sorry for my loss and…" she hesitates, feels like an idiot for bringing it up in the first place.

"And what?"

"And he wanted to see me."

"Huh."

"Except I don’t really know if I should, you know? I don’t-" She pauses, swallows. "Have the greatest track record with him and hard times. But it would be nice to catch up, try to be friendly."

He nods slowly, face unreadable. She stares at him anyway, not sure what she’s looking for. He casually starts working again.

"So, what should I do?"

"Why ask me?"

"Well, you’re here. And I could use some advice."

He looks back at her.

"What do you wanna do?"

"I don’t know! Why do you think I’m asking? I guess a part of me wants to get back to him, but another doesn’t, isn’t that how you feel about your exes?"

He shakes his head.

"I’m the wrong person to ask." He pauses, leans on the shaft of his tool, then speaks with more resolve. "It’s rare, but when I like someone I just know. I’ve always known. And then right or wrong doesn’t really enter into it. I don’t need to write pro- and con lists. It’s okay that you do though, I just wouldn’t be any help with it." He starts working again, but continues talking. "And besides, I’m not really impartial. You can’t trust my opinion."

"Why? Because we used to date?"

"…Yeah." He says, the briefest of pauses noticeable.

"Makes sense I guess..." She starts working, but can't really get the pace up.

 

"What about you? Are you seeing anyone?" She asks his back.

"No."

"How come?"

He sighs.

"Like I said; I don’t really like people that often." He turns around to face her. "And I tried to ignore that for a while, tried to date. But it was a really bad idea, ‘cause I hurt them." He gnaws on his lower lip, gaze distant. "And myself too, I guess. I would be fine, and then I’d start dating someone and it’d always make me feel worse. So, I stopped."

She feels sick to her stomach that she’s relieved at his answer since it doesn’t seem a sustainable solution.

"So, it’s only casual sex these days?" She tries jokingly. He gives her a somewhat pale smile.

"I don’t know what’s wrong with me."

"Hey! Nothing’s wrong with you!" She exclaims, grasping his lower arm, suddenly desperate to offer solace. "You need to care for people in order to be in a relationship. Seems healthy to me."

He looks less than convinced, but winks at her just the same.

“Thanks.” He says.

 

She can’t leave it alone, of course, the dilemma nags at her, and while they’re making dinner a bit later she brings it up again.

"But I mean, what if I asked you if you thought he was a good idea? What would you say?"

He shakes his head and smiles, seemingly to himself.

"I’d say I’ve already given you my opinion on the guy."

"What? That was almost ten years ago!"

He turns and leans on the sink, looks right at her.

"Well, I rarely change my mind."

"Oh, come on!"

"I don’t! And I have no new information to work with. The last I heard he ditched you when you wouldn’t adapt to his plans and that’s not exactly redeeming."

With that he goes back to peeling carrots.

 

Her heartbeat picks up at his words and she’s strangely cheerful, apparently at the fact that he… what? Can hold a grudge? Has her back? She can’t stop the feeling either way. She aches with warmth, and she needs to let it out somehow.

"I need music!"

"No internet, obviously," he says. "I could play from my car, but I don’t know how long the battery will hold on for."

She’s about as pleased with this plan as he seems to be. She frowns.

"Doesn’t Luke have any music here?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"But have you looked everywhere?"

"Maybe not, but I didn’t think I’d have anything other to do but work and sleep here. Shows how much I know," he finishes. She doesn’t let his words discourage her but dives into the closet with the flashlight intending to look properly. All she finds there, however, is fishing gear, and old newspapers.

 

Places to look are limited. She goes over every drawer in the bed and finally finds a cabinet in the kitchen shut with a small padlock. She pulls at it but it stays locked.

"Darn," she mutters.

Jess turns and looks at her, then the lock.

"Hold your horses, horsey holder" she says. "I’m not done yet… Aha!"

Right by the door hangs a tiny key on a nail, they spot it at the same time.

"Oh, geez!" He sighs.

Rory picks it down and tries it in the lock. It fits.

"You probably should’ve checked over the door for extra keys before breaking in," she snickers as she pulls the cabinet open.

"Score!"

She reaches in and grabs a cassette player and a stack of tapes.

"Is it all Jimmy Buffett?"

"No, but-"

"I knew it!"

"There’s Jethro Tull, Songs from the Woods, which, however appropriate, is a bit fruity. But there’s also Stand Up and you shouldn’t knock it ‘til you tried it – it’s like heavy psychedelic but with flutes."

"Sounds riveting."

"Your loss, mister. There’s also Steely Dan-"

Jess hides his face in his hands.

"So close-minded," she remarks. "Oh! Déjà vu! Crosby, Stills, Nash-"

He looks up.

"Really?"

"And Neil Young."

"Thank god!"

"We have a winner!"

She pops in the tape and Unknown Legend blares somewhat shakily through the mono speaker. She takes out a kettle and balances the player on the top, speaker into it for acoustic, and lowers the volume. Smiles slowly.

"That’s better."

She climbs the sink on her knees to look for more on the top shelf. He steps closer and places himself behind her.

"No way!" She exclaims and pulls out a dusty, half filled, bottle of whiskey and another tape.

"Patti Smith!"

He grabs the bottle from her, pulls out glasses from a cabinet, and pours about two fingers into each.

"Godmother of punk!" She hoots.

He puts an arm around her waist, swinging her down from the counter with surprising ease, and hands her a glass.

"Here’s to her," he says and clanks his to hers. She takes a hearty sip, and has an idea.

 

"Hey! Can I have your car keys?"

"What for? The godfather of grunge not doin’ it for you?"

"Not quite," she says wiggling her fingers at him, "come on!"

He points to his jacket hanging from a hook next to the door. "Right hand pocket."

She fishes up the keys and runs out into the dusk. Opens the door to the driver's seat and slides in. She takes a moment to look around it. The seats are in mustard velvety cloth, and the car smells like foam rubber and cigarettes. She hasn’t seen him smoke so far so if he needs to he’s playing it very close to the chest. The music system is a CD player which must drive him nuts. She leans over and pops open the glove compartment. Old CD’s fall out, on top of more cases covering the floor of the passenger's side. She smiles at the mess and briefly browses the titles. There's a lot from their youth, when people still bought CD's, a number of burnt ones, with mixed tracks and some hopelessly obscure ones, probably bought at live shows of the no name-artists in question. She actually knows of a few from Lane, which makes her want a more detailed look into his highly unorganized collection. But it'll have to wait, she's on a mission. She rummages around in the compartment until she finds what she’s looking for.

 

She enters the cabin again tossing the deck of cards on the counter next to the stove.

"We’re going fishing!" She exclaims cheerily.

"What are you, five? Poker!"

"So you can cheat me out of my life’s savings? No thanks."

"We could play for clothes." He winks.

"So you can cheat me out of my clothes? No thanks. I was thinking more along the lines of Rummy. Slapjack. Skitgubbe."

"What are you, ten?"

"Not everyone can be professional gamblers."

"We’ll see. Let’s eat first."

 

They do play cards and listen to music while slowly working their way towards the bottom of the bottle of whiskey. He shuffles and deals but offers the cut to her.

"We should play Dame," she suggests.

"Never heard of it."

"The goal is to get as few points as possible, queens and King of hearts are all zeros."

"Aren’t you talking about Hearts?"

"No, it’s called Dame, but should really be called Life ‘cause you don’t get to see what’s coming, you can’t take back anything, women and emotionally mature men get a raw deal, and right there, on top, is a joker that can screw everything up, depending on its rank, and you can’t protect yourself."

"Sounds fun. Let’s play."

She shows him the set up. He kicks her ass up until the third game when she’s under him by one point at the call stage.

"Moment of truth." He turns the card and smiles. "Queen of Hearts. No way you beat that."

She turns hers and smiles broadly, at the King of Hearts.

"Sometimes you get lucky." He admits.

 

They’re between games and he’s shuffling the deck. She’s watching him do it, looks to his face. He seems focused and serene at the same time, she’s a little jealous, can’t imagine having looked that way in a while. He looks up and she’s a too tipsy to look away directly, instead they get caught staring at each other for a few more moments than what might be considered appropriate. His gaze flicks to her lips and she’s too warm in her clothes.

"How’ve you been, Jess?" She asks drowsily. "How’s work? Family?"

"You know me, I’m always alright."

"Is that what you are?"

"Well, yeah. Ever since I got my act together. Work’s good, still a lot of fun. I don’t know what Luke’s told you, but I got my GED."

"That’s great! Probably overnight, right?"

"Yeah, the education fairy dropped it off. And Liz and TJ are still together, still insufferable of course, but I try to visit regularly anyway, because of Doula."

She’s struck by how little she’s told about Jess, and finds it strange, and not just a little bit sad considering the proximity of their lives. And she wonders why. Is Luke and her mom still protecting her in some misguided fashion, or is it all her own fault?

"Luke hasn’t told me much, I’ve been a bit scared to ask."

"Why?"

"Well, ‘cause I- I didn’t know how it would feel to know, stuff about you, so I just…" She trails off.

He watches her with searching eyes, serious, for a few beats before speaking again.

"How about you? How have you been?"

It’s a simple question but it paralyzes her. The truth is that she hasn’t been happy in a while, and that is just, unacceptable. It’s not part of the plan.

"Fine."

"Really?"

"Yes. Why, don’t I seem it?"

"Well, no." He pauses, shrugs. "But I guess it’s no surprise at the moment considering. So, you’ve been good?"

"Yeah."

She looks at him and he knows. It’s clear. Her throat hurts and she gulps down the rest of her whiskey.

"We should probably sleep, right?" She musters.

"Yup," he says.

 

When he turns out the light a little while later the darkness is a blessing. The pain in her throat returns and she tries swallowing again, but it doesn’t work.

"I haven’t been good for a while," she whispers.

"I got that," he responds, and after a few moments; "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"God no."

"Let me know if you change your mind."

"How do you do that?"

"What?"

"Get me."

Silence. Then;

"It’s not rocket science, I know you. I watch you. And you’re sort of a terrible liar."

"Shut up!" She puts her hand to his mouth and that’s the start. Of a different feeling. A tingling in the soles of her feet at the sensation of his lips on her palm. It travels up her legs to her lower tummy and causes her heartbeat to accelerate. She doesn’t lift her hand from his face, but strokes it, painfully slowly, down his chin, neck, shoulder and chest. All the while waiting for a reaction from him. Of course she gets what’s going on, and he must too, because he freezes.

He doesn't give her any indication that he wants her to stop, she lets her fingers continue down his side. He remains still, but when she reaches his hipbone his chest rises sharply and breathes her name, with some labor.

She’s powered by this and responds by grasping his wrist, bringing his hand up under her shirt and placing it over her breast. A motionless moment goes by, then, he drags his palm across her breast and down the side of her body to her waist, stopping and grasping her firmly. She swallows.

 

"Jess?"

"Yes?"

"Why don’t you wanna say what you think about me calling Logan back?"

There’s silence, then:

"You know why."

The implication makes her heartbeat pick up in strength, he has to feel it. She speaks again, needs something specific.

"Do you still love me?" Her voice is even only by the full power of her will. His isn’t.

"What do want me to say to that?"

"The truth?" She starts, but decides to be blunt. "I mean ‘yes’. Say you do."

He puts his free hand to her face and strokes her across her cheek to her mouth, takes an audible breath.

"I do."

 

She kisses him. The emotion and physical sensation drowns out everything, covers all, and it's glorious. She moans softly and he finally springs into action by tipping her over while he keeps kissing her. She greedily accepts his weight on her, stroking his lower back, hooking her fingers in the elastic band of his underwear. He stills, puts his forehead to hers. His quickened breaths on her face makes her arch her neck to reconnect their lips. As they brush against each other he speaks.

"What about-?" He starts, but she interrupts him.

"I have an IUD. I dated someone a while back." She doesn’t slow down while speaking and pulls off her t-shirt. He doesn’t ask any follow ups, but regards her for a few moments, too many, she thinks and seizes his mouth with hers.

He paces himself differently than she does, touches her slowly and she’s increasingly frustrated by it. She drags off her panties to get her point across. His hand trails her thigh all the way up and his fingers slip inside her. She whimpers, loudly, she thinks, in the silence of the room. He responds with a low moan and it drives her nuts.

“Please,” she whispers. He pulls off his underwear and leans back on her, this time between her legs. The feel of him, them together like this makes her knees shake.

"What do you want me to do?" He murmurs.

"Everything. All night. I would like to not exist, if that’s possible." She breathes, struggling to keep desperation out of her voice, unsure if she said the last part out loud.

“Okay.”

 

It’s almost dawn before she really falls asleep from sheer exhaustion. She dreams nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Just FYI: I actually performed Rory's instant coffee + condensed milk experiment and can attest to the fact that it's completely okay. I give it a generous three out of five, and would recommend it to anyone stuck in the wilderness  
> Art at the top by the great fayevalcntine, check out more on her tumblr.


	3. Day Three

Whenever I get to feel this way,

Try to find new words to say,

I think about the bad old days.

-Jethro Tull, We Used To Know

 

She wakes slowly. Sun is streaming through the window, high in the sky already. She realizes she hasn't thought about time since she's been here. She's aware of Jess sleeping beside her, and blushes burn as the past night comes back to her. Her pulse quickens and she feels its throbs between her legs, a remnant from the past night’s excessive activities. She has trouble looking at him. The light is too bright. Their legs are tangled and his arm is flung across her tummy. They've been like that all night; him with hands on her for contact, whenever she's moved against him he's responded. They've floated in and out of each other until she's lost track of times, been unsure of beginnings and ends, just need and stillness, ache and release. But now she knows her limits, daylight brought them back. The overwhelming intimacy upsets her, abrupt changes were never her strong suit and the awareness that this scenario wasn't even on the map just two days ago makes her dizzy. She feels like stuck in tar, sticky. Yearns for a shower. She inches out of bed slowly, to not wake him. Stands and pulls on yesterday's panties and t-shirt that she finds suggestively crumpled up on the floor.

 

"Hey."

She looks to the bed and meets the newly woken gaze of Jess.

"Hi. Did I wake you?" She responds awkwardly.

He looks out the window, then back to her.

"Seems like the thing to do."

They lock eyes, and she has to shake her head to break it.

"What do you do for personal hygiene around here?"

He smiles wickedly.

"Oh, you'll love it."

He gets out of bed and she has to look away. When she looks back he's in his underwear, regarding her warily. Damn it.

"Grab the soap by the sink, and there are towels under the bed." He pulls up his pants and shoots her another glance before walking past her out to the driveway. She gets a towel and the soap and follows.

 

A few steps off into the trees by the driveway places them in front of a wooden construction, that looks alarmingly like gallows.

"What’s this?"

"The shower. I’ll show you."

He grabs a blue can off the top of the construction and heads to the water pump. She follows half-heartedly and watches as he fills the thing and carries it back, places it on its shelf and hoists it up with the rope. At the bottom of the can, that under normal circumstances probably would be used for collecting rain in a watering system, is a tap. Now, however, there's a snout from an ewer attached to it, to spread the water.

"Just turn on the tap for your very own cold shower," he says. "Luke built it a few years ago when I complained about the lack of modern comforts."

She blinks at him. He laughs.

"You should have seen him, all satisfied that he fixed a shower. To this day I can’t figure out if it was some elaborate prank."

She stares skeptically at the thing.

"I’d walk you to the lake but I actually think I have to get started on painting the place if I’m gonna have a chance to finish it. You can walk yourself, just use the rubber boots. The water's probably just as cold as the shower though."

She sighs. He shoots her a small, reserved smile, and heads off. Back to the cabin.

 

When he's out of sight she remains standing for a while staring into the trees. Some clouds have blown in and turned the forest a grayish green. She peels off her clothes and turns on the tap.

Her scream seems to echo between the trees and she muffles it to a continuous whimper while drenching herself. She turns off the water and shakily uses the soap for everything, hair and body. Turns on the water again and braces herself before stepping back in. It's not so bad this time and she stays standing under the stream until her temples ache and it ceases.

 

When she gets back inside she finds breakfast still out on the counter, including instant coffee and condensed milk. There's a twinge of tenderness in her breast. She walks over to the back window and Jess is already out on the terrace with buckets of paint, and stuff for his project. She makes her breakfast and coffee and sits inside the house eating, still shivering from the cold water.

 

She goes through her bag in search of something clean. She didn't plan for this trip at all, had to get away, figured she'd be alone and just packed tee's and sweatpants, an ancient braided sweater and cotton shorts. She drags out two moderately used garments and gets dressed. Feels a tad better when warm.

 

She grabs her laptop after a while and opens her document but can’t get started. Everything is a distraction; the uncomfortable chair, the useless couch staring at her from across the room, mocking her for causing this whole mess. And she can’t be anywhere near the bed. Can’t even consider it. Them. What the heck happened here? She’s trapped between invading memories of him on top of her, inside her, of herself touching and grabbing him, using him for oblivion, and the fact that it’s made no difference. Here she is, still in pain, not the agonizing kind, just the sort that keeps you from doing anything else, like cramps, or a bad itch. She thinks longingly of yesterday’s focus, that all started with a broom.

 

"I’m helping," she says as she joins him.

"Great," he responds. "Grab a scrape, we need to at least get rid of any loose paint before putting on another layer."

She starts working. Submerges herself in it, actually. Even if the cabin is small she still has to stand on a stool to reach the parts closest to the roof. The technique isn't hard to get the hang of, but it's hard work and she often finds herself having to lower her arms because of the lactic acid in her muscles, making progress slow and at times indistinguishable. She doesn't stop until her tummy screams from hunger and her head spins. She wobbles on her stool. In seconds Jess is next to her.

"Break?" He suggests, offering her his hand.

"Yeah," she responds, but leans on the wall climbing down. She sits down on the ground, back against the house. He hands her a water bottle.

"You gotta remember to drink."

"Yeah, not sure it makes me less useless."

"Trust me, you're definitely of more use to me conscious."

He leaves her the bottle, which she empties, in big gulps. The sun is covered by thin streaks of clouds, but still burns. He returns, tossing her an apple. She catches it, almost without looking up. She's surprised at her reflexes and looks up with an involuntary smile, seeing the same expression in his face. She's instantly more guarded, and averts her attention by taking a bite. After she finishes her meager meal she feels better. She uses the energy to get herself inside. She finds a box of biscuits, which, by the taste of them, has been there for a while. She doesn't care. As soon as she's full, she glares at her computer, still on the table, like an enemy. It does nothing in response.

"Screw you," she mumbles and heads outside again.

The work there doesn't get easier though. The old paint is a solid piece of work, which means she hits patches where it won't budge for anything, where she keeps slipping and jabbing the scraper into her hip and legs. The only thing keeping her from drawing blood is her lack of strength. She keeps at it though, barely noticing the late afternoon settling around her.

She loses control of her frustration after she’s lost track of the number of times she’s slipped. With a growl she stabs the scraper into the façade, and gets stuck.

“Woah! What’s going on?” Jess rounds the corner and sees her pulling at the tool. He promptly lifts her off the stool and steps up wiggling the scraper loose. He hands it back to her. She takes it and tosses it in the grass.

“What am I even doing here?” She exclaims angrily. "I’m hurting myself, wrecking the place! I should just go home!”

“You’re not wrecking anything! You’ve been working like crazy today. I'm already painting the other wall.”

She turns her head to see, and he’s right. She’s practically done with her side, and it seems fair to assume he is with two of the others. Some anger runs off her.

"And where did you hurt yourself?"

She lifts her shirt to reveal her bruised hip.

"Ouch," he says and puts his hand to it, stroking it lightly. Last night radiates from the touch. But now it draws her in and she sees it in his face too. The shift gives her vertigo. She sticks out her chin and steps away. He drops his hand and starts to turn away. For no reason she’s furious with him. She still tries, but fails, to keep her tone light.

"Hey, how many people have you been with, say the last year?"

He freezes.

"Been with?"

"How many people have you slept with?"

"Rory-"

"I mean, we did have sex last night in case you forgot. So, number of partners might be relevant for me to know, if you’ve been at risk of contracting something.”

"Geez! If you're so into information why don't you go first?" He glares at her. “Who were you seeing a while back? Did you have him list all his sexual partners too, or am I special?”

She dumbfounded for a second.

"He wasn’t- He’s not relevant. You're the one who's been engaging in 'just casual sex'."

"No. I said I don't date, you assumed that I was promiscuous 'cause of it. And stupid enough to not protect myself apparently. I'd ask why but right now you're just looking to pick a fight so any reason you’d supply would be bullshit."

Anger and shame makes her red hot.

"You're trying to tell me you haven't-"

"Hey!" He barks, silencing her. "I know you’re having some kind of freak-out about what happened last night, completely unwarranted by the way, so I think it’s time you go use your keyboard as a punching bag instead."

He gestures towards the door, then turns and marches off to the other side of the cabin.

 

She remains standing, their words bouncing in her head, her cheeks burning with the come-down, before walking back inside. She considers leaving, even makes an attempt of gathering her things, but then she imagines coming back to her mother's place, having to explain why she's back, having to keep it together, and lie, and she feels physically sick at the thought. She paces for a while before becoming aware of her hunger. She warms a can of spaghetti-o's and eats.

She opens her computer, trying to write again, and failing. It’s been happening more lately with a steep increase since her grandfather died. She considers herself bad at introspection, or at least at extracting results from it, but the parallel isn’t lost on her.

And she thinks of her grandfather.

How he, when he got to spend time with her, quickly got know her, stood up for her, was so obviously proud of her. How even his sternness after that seemed so safe, comforting. How she rarely let herself need support from any adult male, and how good it had felt to let herself lean on him. She tries to imagine his reaction to her now. Had he seen her inner workings, her struggles, really seen them. Would he still be sort of noncommittally confident that she would work them out? When would he panic on her behalf? She lets herself consider that maybe the only failings that would have terrified him would have been personal, like with her mother. Being with an inappropriate man... or boy. Getting pregnant. And there it is; the core. Cold and unbreakable. Love is scary, sex is dangerous, vulnerability a liability. And it all begins with a girl. The things she doesn't really think, but sort of feels, instinctively. And just like that, she loses the thought, it's gone, like it never existed in the first place.

 

Jess enters the room. It's getting dark outside. He tosses a few brushes in the corner and hangs his jacket on the hook by the door. He huddles by the sink, leaning on the counter with arms crossed and eyes to the floor. Quiet. She feels like crying when watching him but refuses to. Instead she takes a deep breath and tries to keep her voice steady.

"I’m sorry."

He looks up at her then. Sighs and untangles his arms. Starts gesturing, but puts his hands in his pockets instead.

"I hope you know that I would have told you- I wouldn’t have-"

"I know," she exclaims, covering her eyes in her hands. "Please don’t mention it again. I didn’t mean it and it's completely beside any point, and you were right, I was trying to start something-"

"Okay." He walks up to the table and sits down opposing her. Watches her for a few seconds, then smiles a little. “For what it’s worth; I didn’t mean to bring your ex into it. But I have to admit that I am curious about who Rory Gilmore would date in 2015.”

“No one of consequence apparently,” she sighs tiredly.

“How so?”

She considers it for a moment.

“I thought we were kind of serious, we had toothbrushes at each other’s places and everything.”

“You were practically married.” He says deadpan. She can’t help a quick smile.

“And then,” she still has to brace herself to get the words out, “when my grandpa died, I dropped the ball. I went home. Didn’t tell him. Just left. He didn’t even cross my mind until he called and broke up with me.” She takes an agitated breath. “And. The only feeling I could register about the entire thing was that I was scared about the fact that I forgot him!”

She looks at Jess, who’s sitting still, listening.

“Who does that?”

 

She watches him for a reaction but he seems calm, eyes revealing a strange sort of recognition. She takes a deep breath and lets the air out of her nose. Hesitates, she's never told anyone before. Then she speaks.

"I can’t write. Or, mechanically I can, I just never feel like it anymore."

His face softens.

"Sounds like a rut. It happens. It’ll pass. Give yourself some space. Try writing something else."

"Well, I don’t really get to choose, I get assignments and I gotta take them."

"No you don’t."

She gives him an incredulous look.

"Sure, I’ll just give up on eating."

"There are other ways to support yourself."

She flicks her head to the side.

"Oh, and what is it exactly that you do?"

"I don’t just write. I do all kinds of things adjacent to it; editing, recruiting writers and sponsors, layouts, workshops. And sometimes, when I’m so sick of it all that I feel like never being within a mile of a printing press again, I pick up shifts at diners, I do stuff like this. After a while I’m back again."

She sighs impatiently.

"But writing for a living is what I’ve been working towards my entire life, ever since I was little. It’s what I’m supposed to do."

"Says who?"

"Easy for you to say." She regrets it as soon as she says it and he sees it.

"No, you're right. Nobody expected me to do anything. The bar is pretty low. And that makes it easier for me. To quit, to pick it up again. To do it just for me. But that's my point. Who are you doing this for?"

She stares at him. Can't produce an answer. It would either be not enough or too much, she feels, and is blocked by that.

"Why does this happen?" She asks.

"Why? I don’t know, it's different for everybody." He pauses, apparently hesitating. "But I think that… most people need context to create meaning and drive. That can be many things but relationships are probably the most important factor.”

He falls silent.

“Go on,” she says.

“For example: a man works a job he hates every day for 20 years in order to support a family. Take them away and he probably wouldn't do it. Conclusion: you become who you need to be in order to fit a context; If a person you care about expects you to be a certain way, to do a certain thing, you might just do it. It becomes part of you, but when that person disappears for whatever reason, so does the incentive."

"So, you’re saying my grandfather took my drive to write with him to the grave. Great."

"So dramatic." He sighs with sort of a tender smile. "I’m saying he was a part of what you decided to do a long time ago. Maybe, part of the context for who you became is dissolving."

She bites her bottom lip, sad, and angry with him for being so… honest. She sighs shakily. He puts his hand on hers, the first touch they’ve shared for hours, and the simple devotion of it hits her, makes her throat sting. For a moment her entire being is the skin he touches. She tries to ignore it, isn't ready to be soft.

"Look, it’s normal." He continues. "Not that it’s not a big deal, but you’ll get through it. Maybe you’ll try something new. Your decision."

"The way you put it all I have to look forward to is my entire identity breaking apart ‘til everyone I love is dead."

"That’s not what I’m saying." He frowns and leans closer. "How do you think I keep myself together? You said it yourself: My tragedy is that I don’t have enough people to lose, you on the other hand, will be attending lots of funerals. But you might just as well start looking at that as the better alternative."

 

She pulls back her hand, gets up and walks out the door into the darkness as tears stream down her face. Out to the edge of the terrace, staring off into the trees, sobbing loudly by now. Her anger quickly runs off her but only leaves despair. Everything he says makes sense. But sense doesn’t make her feel any better, it just implies that times ahead are going to be more difficult than they already are. And that she really has no way of preparing for it. It has always been her way; Study harder, work harder. And if that’s not the solution to this problem? Would she be able to execute some other tactic than that even if she knew the right way? The woods offer nothing but their continued existence.

 

"You’re more than the sum of your parts, right?" Comes Jess’ apologetic voice from behind her. "Please, don’t think that just 'cause I can cough up some existential bullshit that I think you’re some golem the people around you built. You’re you, you’ll always be you, no matter who you lose."

She senses him closing in, hears his breath, feels his warmth, and welcomes his hands on her shoulders, leaning back on him. He rests his bearded shin in the crook of her neck, and a shiver if want runs through her, reminding her of how easy it can be to just disappear for a while. She tilts her head to the side and he drags his mouth against her. She makes a little sound, something like a little purr, and turns to him. His lips meet hers in a slow kiss that she feels more in her throat and chest than anywhere else. She breathes and tries to control the quakes from residual cries as best she can. His arms support her, one around her waist, one around her shoulder. His hand travels up underneath her hair and he pulls away.

"I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I really need to sleep. Between the work today and last night…"

She smiles softly.

"Can I come too?" She asks.

"Yes, but I’m kinda useless tonight."

"Cork it," is all she can muster.

 

They go to bed. He closes his arms around her as they lie face to face, buries his hands in her hair, and falls asleep almost immediately. She lies awake, gently untangling her head after a while, but stays facing him. It’s so much easier looking at him when he’s not watching her. She touches his face carefully, stroking fingertips over his forehead, cheek and lips. For a moment her strongest wish is that she could be better for him, less of a car wreck, more of her younger self. But then she wonders if she would even be here if that was the case. He turns over on his back after a while, and she places an arm over his chest, her face to his neck, and falls asleep.

 

She dreams of dark earth flowing like a river to the sea. Thick, like tar or lava. And sizzling, while dripping into the ocean. Lemonade girl standing on the coastline, dipping her hand into the water and finding it near boiling.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art above by the great fayevalcntine, check out her tumblr for more where that came from :)


	4. Day Four

Rejoice, rejoice! 

We have no choice, 

But to carry on. 

-Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, Carry On 

 

She wakes at dawn, the room in gray but clearly visible. She looks out the window and there's the start of orange at the horizon of what little sky is visible through the trees. Her body aches, mostly because of yesterday’s manual labor, a feeling she’s utterly unused to. But there’s a restlessness also, like currents under her skin, it feels like a buzzing. She twists her body and groans, almost like the springs in that stupid couch. She finds the thought intensely funny for some reason and a giggle makes its way out her nose. When she turns her head to Jess he slowly blinks his eyes open as if emerging from sleep. 

"Rory? What time is it?" 

"Early," she says and is made aware of the specific circumstances for this situation, the memory of the last three days racing back in her mind. I’m allowed, she thinks incoherently, and leans over and drags her lips over his, the buzzing inside ceasing momentarily. She pulls her head back to look at him and finds him eyeing her, not without worry on his face. He opens his mouth, possibly to say something, but she leans back in, kissing him with fervor. He quickly catches on, but moves slowly, letting her set the pace. She straddles him and pulls off the t-shirt she’s been sleeping in. 

He's distinctly less guarded this time, maybe because of the early hour, or maybe something else. Hands greedier, kisses her with abandon, face and eyes more expressive. The night before was dark, and she could mostly just feel. But now, the vague morning light lets her see him, and it brings another dimension to the whole thing, makes it more real. He does look back at her and she feels weak and powerful at the same time. This is real, she thinks, and with that she's so aware of who he is, and this seems to have been a long time coming. She climaxes within moments of her hazy thought, and he follows, closing his eyes and makes a sound as he comes unlike any she’s experienced before, or maybe she never really listened. It makes her quiver as the vibration of it travels up her abdomen and echoes out her mouth. She bends her torso down on and rolls off him sideways, crossing her legs and rocking herself a little, body singing. 

He turns to his side and lets his hands frame her face, stroking it with his thumbs. 

"Please don’t freak out on me again," he says, in a tone that could be interpreted as an attempt at humor, but holds a fair amount of desperation. There's a twinge of regret and protectiveness in her. She reaches out her hand to return the touch. 

"I promise," she says. 

 

At breakfast they criss-cross around each other at the counter, picking out what they need. She doesn’t fail to notice that he doesn’t really keep his distance anymore, but brushes against her at any chance like a cat. She smiles as he reaches his arms around her from behind to get to the butter. It’s a version of him she hasn’t had any contact with since- and never to this extent anyway. She’s reminded of his somewhat annoying habit of keeping any grand gesture, or feeling, to himself. She gets it though, protection, right? She’s done the same a good few times, mostly with him. She turns towards him, pushes her slightly open mouth on his and lets him steer. 

She also knows he expresses most of his emotions via actions. She recognizes it from their youth and the way he would ruthlessly pursue her by just being there, by coming back, time and time again. He does now too in a way. And he still wants her, for some reason, she catches herself thinking. It’s not that she feels she deserves him, just like that, after everything, but there’s something between them, always has been. She slows her mouth and lets their kiss stall. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

“Sure, anything.” He mumbles, lips still against her, eyes closed. 

“How do you and Luke sleep while you're up here?” 

He snorts out a laugh, pulls back and opens his eyes. 

“Well, he brings an extra mattress from the diner.” He pauses. “Not the first time though, it didn't occur to him. That was... interesting.” 

 

They bring their breakfast outside this morning, sit quietly while eating, her legs in his lap. 

She goes to fetch water for washing the dishes, looks up and finds the sky clear blue. It’s already really warm. She recalls yesterday's labor and how trying it was, even with a clouded sky. 

"Looks like it’s gonna be a scorcher." She turns to him. "What do you need to do today?" 

"I still have painting to do, he starts. But I’ll finish later. We should go to the lake-" 

"Yes!" 

He smiles. 

"We’ll fix the path on the way down." 

They clear the table and do the dishes. He heads outside and digs through the built-in storage closets, she can hear him rifle around in there while she fills a bottle of water to bring, she also digs out blankets from under the bed. She keeps her t-shirt but puts on a pair of shorts. Habit makes her bring her book, and because she brings one for herself, she reaches into Jess’ duffel bag and grabs one for him too. She pulls out rubber boots from the closet and steps into them despite them being a couple of sizes too big. When she joins him in the back there’s a number of items laid out on the terrace; a barrow loaded with a sandbag, the scythe, and another bag of what looks like gravel. 

"Boots – good." He says when he reviewing her. "Can you walk in them?" 

"I'll manage," she responds. 

"Okay. It’s probably better if I take the lead. I’ll be the reaper," he smiles and gestures to the scythe. "Can you pull the barrow?" 

"Sure," she says. 

He picks out a pocket knife and cuts a hole in the bag on the barrow, allowing the sand to slowly pour from it, picks up the scythe and the bag of gravel, repeating the knife-maneuver on it, and loading it onto his shoulder. She ties her bag of things to the barrow. 

"Let’s go." 

He starts walking the overgrown path from the house. She pulls the barrow, it is heavy, but probably worse from the terrain. It’s rocky and bumpy, and it’s hard to get the pacing right since the have to stop and clear some patches more than others. Pretty soon she’s sweating, and cursing internally in frustration. She tries to focus on the scenery, because it is beautiful. They’re surrounded by golden, green foliage and pines, bugs and birds fluttering gives the air structure and makes her understand why people used to believe in fairytales. 

She's actually caught up in it, and trips over a root that efficiently traps the wheel of the barrow. She swears, out loud this time. He turns and grabs hold of the handle, helping her to pull the wagon loose. He squats next to her, apparently inspecting her leg, supposedly for scratches. When his hands travel her skin, she laughs. 

"You certainly are thorough." 

He looks up and winks. 

"Better check the other one too." 

She slaps his shoulder and he gets back up, still smiling though, in such an open way that she actually feels it in her chest. He turns and keeps walking, hoisting the bag up on his shoulder, swinging the scythe dully from side to side when necessary. She keeps walking too, pulling the gradually lighter barrow behind her. She watches his back as they walk; the muscles moving in waves under the shirt, and occasional tremors when they work harder in the rough patches. Sweat runs from his neck along the spine creating darker stains in the cloth. There's something inexplicably calming about in the entire thing. To just follow him. 

 

They finally see water through the trees, and Jess drops his tool, what’s left of the bag and drags his clothes off himself with telling speed, running out onto a boulder and jumping in the lake. An unguarded laugh rolls off her at the scene. 

"Fuck! That’s cold!" He yells as he breaks the surface, emerging, then he sets off swimming. Her body shakes with something between a laugh and a shiver despite the heat. She stalls for a few seconds, then imitates his actions. Drops her clothes on the ground and takes aim. The closer she gets to the water the more hesitant she gets, and the more hesitant she gets, the more she picks up her pace until she’s sprinting off the rocks where he jumped. Cold water swallows her, pushing a giggling scream from her lungs that rises like bubbles to the surface. She breaks it too, gasping. The place, the feeling, is incredible. Her heart hammers in her chest. 

"Gutsy," Jess hoots. 

"Back at ya," she calls back at him, swims in his direction, and he moves to meet her. When they’re a few feet apart, they stop, paddling water and looking at each other. Her cheeks ache from smiling and she’s struck by how rare it has been for her lately. His eyes are wide, shining, like a little boy that she can’t imagine he ever was. Their feet touch as they paddle and she wonders how deep it is. 

"Luke doesn’t fish for Pike here, does he?" She remembers the potential size of that particular kind of fish, and their teeth. 

"Don’t think so. Wrong environment for them, or something. He's mainly here for Trout. I’d watch out for Crayfish though if I were you." He sticks out his tongue at her, and she splashes water on him. 

 

When they’re back on land, sitting on the rock they jumped off, wrapped in a blanket each, they share the water in the bottle. 

"So, are you gonna do some fishing?" 

"Nah," He says. "I could never stand killing them. We better stick to canned Tuna." 

“I’m so sick of canned stuff.” 

“You’ve had it for three days.” 

“I will not apologize for having high standards.” 

“Great, you go fish!” 

“God no. Yuck.” 

He gives off his short, quiet laugh, the one she can only hear if she listens for the air exiting his nose, and looks for the twitch in his body. Like a comforting secret. 

“Well, we do have pasta. And there’s Parsley and Asparagus growing up by the driveway." 

"Really?" 

"Yeah, Luke tried to cultivate some sort of vegetable patch a few years back. It’s a pretty decent meal." 

"Okay, master chef." 

 

She takes a turn in the clearing and picks up their clothes, hanging them on branches and on the barrow. The sun burns down and the wind has picked up so they’ll dry soon enough. She brings back their books and lies down on her tummy next to Jess on the blanket he’s spread out on the moss. 

"Knausgård, huh?" 

"Yeah," he says dismissively. 

"How d’you like it?" 

"I don’t know. It’s interesting, but a bit much. He’s a sort of a dude." 

"You’re a dude." 

He winces. 

"Well, I’m a guy, but not a dude… right?" 

She laughs. 

"Why do you read it if you don’t like it?" 

He’s quiet, frowning and biting his lower lip before answering. 

"I guess it’s too crazy not to read. I mean, it’s series of autobiographies - plural! And from what I can tell he's famous for writing multiple autobiographies. Very strange." 

"Are you perhaps considering writing one yourself?" 

"Of course I am.” He says, and after a beat; “I just don’t think I could, and I don’t even have- I just think it’d hurt Luke too much if I wrote about Liz." 

His situation seems hauntingly familiar to her. 

"I’m sorry." 

"Don’t be. It’s weird, but it’s like keeping from disappointing him sometimes keeps me sane." 

She shrugs. 

"You might leave stuff out." 

"Might as well write fiction." 

"I don’t know, it should all depend on which aspects of your life you present, or which genre you're aiming for. Seems so sad that autobiographies always have to be so… gloomy. Have you read Wishful Drinking?" 

He nods, and she continues. 

"I mean she hasn’t had a storybook-life and she still manages to be honest about it without being overly exploitative or self-indulgent. She talks about her life like people do in general, trying handle it with distance and humor, and I just don’t think that’s an inherently bad idea. You don’t have to make a spectacle of yourself to tell an interesting story." 

"Good point. I’ll consider that," he says. 

She smiles at him, warm at the recognition. 

 

They read for a while in silence. Then he speaks again. 

"Okay, so maybe my problem is that my life is kind of uninteresting." 

"What?" She says, and hears the disbelief in her own voice clearly. 

"Well, bad kid manages not to fuck up his life completely, and keeps doing that. Would you read that?" 

"First off; You weren't a bad kid, and you’re selling yourself way too short. There’s nothing about your life that I wouldn’t wanna know more about. If you wrote an autobiography I’d be first in line to buy it." 

He smiles at her. 

"I know you would, you might be the entirety of the line, but I know. You on the other hand…" 

"What about me?" 

"Your life would make a great story." 

"Get outta here!" 

"No, it would: town sensation since you were born, feet in two different, equally exotic worlds for the average person, vindication, your mom… all of it. A modern princess story." 

She laughs loudly. 

"You are full of it." 

"Fine, very modern," he admits. "But it would be so intriguing it wouldn’t even matter how it ended." 

"Now you’re just being the entirety of my line," she says, leans her shoulder to his, and shoves it, a move he mirrors. 

 

His gaze moves to her shoulder and he reaches out and strokes it. 

"You’re gonna burn yourself," he says. He sits, grabs the other blanket and spreads it over her. It’s actually nice, it blocks the hot rays of sun and sudden gusts of wind. She smiles at him. 

"What about you?" 

"Have you seen me? I’m fine." 

"Maybe I just want to share it," she says and lifts the upper blanket. He inches under it and she folds it out over their heads. They enter a world of only gravity, she closes the distance between them, her eyes darting between his. He repeats this morning's gesture and puts his hands to her face. Takes a deep breath as if taking aim. Closes his eyes. Speaks. 

"I don’t sleep around. I haven’t- it’s been months since-" 

She starts protesting, but he cuts her off by opening his eyes and looking intently at her. 

"It is relevant, just not for the reasons that were on the table yesterday." 

Her heartbeat is thunderous. She purses her lips and leans in, a light shushing escaping her mouth before kissing him. They remain under the blanket for a while, she really has no way of keeping track of it, her mind is in a place adjacent to sleep, relishing the cocoon-like closeness, light oblivion. 

A shadow moves over them and it’s colder. They fold the top cover open. The sky is covered with clouds turning darker by the horizon, there’s a distant sound of thunder, or maybe strong winds, it’s hard to tell. She looks to Jess, the shade has robbed his eyes of their amber turning them dark. She shivers. 

"We should go," she says. 

"Yeah," he responds. 

They get dressed and gather up blankets and books, tying them to the barrow and walking the path back to the cabin. She hears the rain as it hits, but feels mere drops of it as the crown canopies catch most of it. She takes the time twisting her steps to grind their spilled sand and gravel into the ground. 

When they get back it’s raining pretty heavily, but he still goes to put away the stuff from the lake and pick the vegetables from the patch. She runs inside and starts cooking dinner. 

 

She pours the pasta into the boiling water. Goes through the tapes on the counter. Jess is still outside, so she puts on Steely Dan. Starts bopping her head to the rhythm on Do It Again. She doesn’t usually dance, it mostly makes her feel clumsy, but this place is freedom. Nobody’s watching. The rain hammers the roof of the cabin and she pretends she knows mambo. 

 

Jess enters and stops in the middle of a step, staring at her. A wide smile spreads on his face and he shakes his head. 

"Did you get into the mushrooms?" 

She drops her jaw. 

“There are mushrooms!?" 

He shakes from a badly contained chuckle, and she laughs. They smile at each other for a few seconds. His expression changes, gains purpose, and walks up to her dragging her into a kiss. She’s still smiling even as he escalates it, moving them to lean on the kitchen table, and she looks at him through her lashes. He's obviously lost in them and she lets herself be dragged into the landslide. 

 

He’s assertive, for the first time since they got here, really, having responded to her mostly so far. 

"Can we turn this off, before the record has to show that we fucked to Steely Dan?” 

She laughs mid-kiss, tingling by the explicit sentiment, but reaches out… and turns off the stove. 

"Nope," she says. "It’s to Steely Dan or not at all." 

An uninhibited smile spreads across his face. 

"Fine. If that’s how you wanna play it. Just trying to keep it civil." 

"Yeah, a civil screw." She mumbles. 

He laughs. 

"You’re adorable." 

"Back at ya." 

They don’t talk much after that. 

 

There’s a point, a while later when he looks at her and she sees it. How he feels. She knows. And waves of lust run through her at the insight. It feels dangerous and safe at the same time and she wonders for a second how it’s so enjoyable. Maybe it’s like combinations of salt and sweet, sweet and sour, that work together even though they shouldn’t. 

 

Afterwards, in bed, she shivers slightly, tenses and relaxes her body, rocking gently against him, riding the after quake of her orgasm. Looks at his face in the murky room, exploring its features, drunk off of him. He meets her gaze and smiles somewhat tiredly. 

“What?” 

She shakes her head. 

“I don’t know, I was just thinking we should have done this earlier.” 

She falls silent and back into thoughts. He presses his lips to her temple, and mumbles. 

“Although I have several thoughts on this matter; I’m not complaining.” 

“And I was thinking about Logan.” 

He tenses, turns his face to hers. 

“We were at a pool party ages ago. We’d been together about six months at the time. And I… had one of those weird days when you’re just so in the mood. It was sort of all I could think about while I was mingling and eating canapés. I kept thinking it’d have to be so obvious the way I kept staring at him. And once we got home, I was all over him and he… had stuff to do.” 

She pauses. 

“He hadn’t noticed a thing, and went to answer some mails and I was just… deflated. It felt like we were from different planets.” She swallows, feels herself drifting into really sensitive territory, but can’t stop herself, the current is too strong. She’s lost all her fear. “But this… Sometimes it feels like you can read my mind. I haven’t felt like that, in a long time. Maybe never. 

She laughs dully and puts her head on his chest listening to his rapid heartbeat. 

“Anyway, after that non-incident it was like… I don’t know, I just never forgot it.” She doesn’t quite know what her point is, but the words keep falling from her mouth, as if they have a life of their own. “And now I’m here and… I’m buzzing.” Her cheeks burn. “‘Cause I want you again and I think you feel it, I know you do.” 

He finally interjects. Speaks low and resolute. 

“Had it been me at that party I would have fucked you there and then. Pulled you into some closet and-“ 

He rolls over, on and into her. She yelps in surprise and pleasure, body shaking from laughter and excitement. He moves slowly while he keeps speaking. 

“And we might have missed the party but now-" He interrupts himself to draw a few sharp breaths. "Now it feels like we- like I- like my purpose is to be here, to sleep with you." 

 

She dreams of dark, soft water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Books mentioned are My Struggle by Karl-Ove Knausgård (Jess is seen reading it in the revival) and Wishful Drinking by the great Carrie Fisher.


	5. Day Five

 

 

Because I’m still in love with you,

On this Harvest Moon.

-Neil Young, Harvest Moon

 

When she first wakes up the rain has stopped. The birds chirp outside, but it’s still dark. She finds Jess awake though. His arms folded under his head, he looks at the ceiling.

"What are we doing?" He says.

She vaguely registers it and what it might be in reference to, but is still sleeping, so she rolls over and slings her arm and leg over his body and shushes him. Falls back asleep.

 

The second time she wakes, it's light out and Jess is up, she hears him outside. She looks out the kitchen window and sees him painting the last wall. He’s focused and she lies watching him for a while before getting up. She mixes the last of the condensed milk with the instant coffee and finds she actually likes it. She chuckles to herself. She finds a lonely piece of toast, and eats it.

 

After a while he comes inside, shirt stained with the dark paint.

"Good morning," she says.

He smiles at her.

"More like noon."

"You let me sleep 'til noon?"

"Seemed like you needed it." His eyes gleam. "What? Did you have something you had to do?"

"I can think of one thing." She retorts boldly and he smiles. He opens his mouth as if to continue their interaction, but closes it again and looks at her for a moment, eyes searching. Then he breaks the contact and turns to the sink to wash his hands.

"I finished painting. Figured I'd break for lunch, how do you feel about beans for breakfast?"

"Nope." She says. "But I don't think we have much to choose from."

"I just bought supplies for a week, and there's been two of us, three if we count you as two."

"Hey!" She says.

"My point is we're almost out, so we might discuss immediate plans." He turns with a small, guarded smile. "How long were you planning on staying for?"

She's acutely aware of time and space. Realizes she hasn't checked her phone in days. Hasn't needed to, didn't want to. Realizes that today is the day she'd planned on leaving, the day she told her mom she'd be back. She suddenly has trouble sensing the floor under her feet. Caught off guard, she diverts his question.

"What about you? How long are you staying?"

There's a short pause before he responds.

"I hadn't decided completely, but I'm done with the things I'd planned to do, so. I guess I should leave today."

"Considering the supplies?"

"Yeah. Makes sense."

She nods absent-mindedly.

"I could stay," he starts "if you-"

"No." She says. "I told my mom I'd be back today."

"Oh. So, I guess we're going home."

"Yeah," she says, tries to smile.

"Better eat first," he says, and picks out the last can from the cupboard.

 

She walks out to the porch and stands for a while. Walks around the cabin, stops at the path to the lake. Feels desolate, unreasonably so, in her own opinion. She makes an attempt to repeat her hopeless inventory from her first morning here, how did that go again? Horrible coffee, ancient biscuits, cold shed, no hot showers, no running water, tics, man-eating crayfish, probably. So why does she feel like she's imploding at the thought of leaving? She tries to list her progress since she's gotten here to explain the experience to herself. But there's been none, at least not on the surface. The only thing she finds is that soft emotion. She interrupts herself when Jess lets her know the food's done, and walks inside.

 

After eating he goes off somewhere presumably to put away the tools, and she makes a half-hearted attempt at packing, which just ends with her sitting on the porch with her book reading the same sentence repeatedly; "Nobody actually looks like what they really are on the inside." This goes on for a while. Then Jess comes from behind the corner, startling her, the beard is gone. Her chin drops.

“Wha-“ she starts but falters.

He stands in front of her, scratching his head, smiling self-consciously.

“If I show up in Stars Hollow with that thing on my face Luke’ll never let me live it down.”

“Stars Hollow? I thought you were going home.”

“Can’t drive all the way tonight.”

Her chest is inexplicably tight. Feels overwhelmed by what she guesses she should refer to as reality. They're leaving this place. Can't stay here forever. His face looks so naked and the thought of going to her hometown in her state, with him, makes her uncomfortable. Nobody misses a thing there.

“So, how should we do this?” She starts without really thinking. “You wanna drive there at different times, or-?”

He frowns.

“I mean, so we don’t arrive at the same time.”

He regards her in silence, gaze serious. Just when she gets really nervous, and scrambles for something to follow up her previous statement with, he speaks.

“Yeah. Sure.”

He turns, and walks into the cabin. She remains sitting, staring into space, her head slowly catching up with her mouth. She twists in her seat and can't stay there for long. She gets up and goes in after him.

 

He’s stuffing his few belongings into his duffle bag with somewhat jagged gestures. When he hears her, he stops, turns. He looks at her and away, is about to talk but doesn’t. Shifts where he stands.

“Look,” she starts, but finds he’s already started speaking. Words roll off him, lingering, while he stares at the floor.

"I have an apartment. It’s filled with books. I left there and now-“ he pauses, eyes distant, dark. “Now I have to go back. Nothing has changed there, see?"

She thinks of her closet of an apartment, bought mainly as an excuse, no bigger than what she could justify getting considering how much she’s on the road. Shakes her head at the thought.

"Me too. Feels like forever since I've been there."

He shoves his hands in his pockets, remains silent.

"And still I wouldn’t have guessed this a week ago.” She looks at him and smiles. “Who knew?"

He’s still staring at the floor.

"Yeah, me being here, you staying.” He mumbles. “Total coincidence."

"I just think, it's funny that we should have met like this after all this time."

"Funny.” He looks up, takes a visible breath. “Fun."

"Are you mad?" The shift in him makes her feel unsteady, and she hugs herself for support. When he speaks again it’s with more emphasis, and apparent frustration..

"If you mean like crazy, then yeah.” He looks to the ceiling. “This is insane. It's been ten years!” He shakes his head. “Everything else goes away."

The years between them feels solid at that. As well as their tangible absence from each other. The proximity, possibility, the security of them being locked in their separate orbits.

"It is what it is, right?" She tries with a bleak smile.

He laughs. Her eyes flick to his face in surprise at the sound, but his smile is cold. After a beat he keeps talking, bitterly, and like he’s the only one listening.

"People underestimate 'fine'. I should have gotten in my car and driven far away the moment you set foot here." He pauses for a second. "I was fine!"

She’s having a real problem knowing how to handle their escalating interaction, so she tries to defuse it.

"Look, I know I've been an utter mess this weekend, and I am sorry that you've been on the receiving end of it.”

He leans in, and meets her eyes.

"I actually consider it a privilege to be of use to you, just not under any circumstances." He turns around and drags a hand over his shin. "You show up, you start this up-" He turns back to face her. "You ask me to say that I- See, this favor you’ve been asking me for, it’s been really dangerous for me while you’re acting like I just lent you a cup of sugar." He stares at her with raised eyebrows. "Plot twist, neighbor; turns out I actually meant what I said." He takes as paced breath, looking suddenly wretched. "And it’s clear that it’s gonna be like this never happened, so I feel like you might as well have spent the weekend with a bottle of whiskey and a vibrator."

She goes cold and a bit nauseous at the sentiment, the vicious tone.

"Jess-" she starts, too slow.

"For the longest time I didn’t think it mattered what I felt, because I didn’t matter."

He walks past her and opens the door, but stops and looks back.

"When no one's looking you’re with me. Why is that?" He walks out and the door slams behind him.

 

She stands frozen, sees him walking down the path through the window by the bed. At first she starts to pack, but her head won't allow it, keeps tripping her up. She's angry at his harshness, but ashamed all the same. She knows he has at least one strong point; she's been more than careless. She swallows her harm and goes after him.

The way to the lake is a lot quicker this time, as they tend to be after you've walked them once. The woods are darker though. The sky is covered by clouds heavy with rain. The ground's wet and she almost slips on the same stupid root from yesterday.

 

He’s standing by the water. Hands on his hips, head hanging. He looks lonely. It resonates in her, and then she does it; she tries to make it go away. She walks up and stands next to him, reaches out her hand, and fumbles for his, hooked in the loop of his pants. He closes his eyes and sighs at the touch, then he loosens his hand, and threads their fingers together. She runs her fingertips over his knuckles, and he squeezes her hand in return. She takes a few deep breaths with relief before speaking.

"Maybe I want something that’s just, all mine. Something no one can touch."

"Yeah." He breathes, resigned. "I get that."

“The thing is, you’ve always seen the worst of me. And the trouble with that is..." She pauses, thinks. "That it makes me feel too relaxed, like I don’t have to try. And then it makes me wanna run, because, I know that you know what I am.”

He shakes his head, clenches his jaws.

“See, this is your main problem; you think you have to be perfect! You don’t." He turns to her, still holding her hand. "But here's the thing: Do I like that you’re obsessing about that? No. But I accept it. Because it’s you." His lips twist to that inverted smile of his that mostly just makes her sad. "Every other guy I’ve seen you with has wanted you to be someone else. To fit into their worlds. To change. And those are just boyfriends, your grandparents and your mother-"

She rips her hand from his.

“Jess, stop it!”

“They want you to be this shining new hope. And that’s okay. I hear it's normal."

She turns and starts walking back into the woods, but he raises his voice and calls after her.

"I’m trying to tell you that you don’t have to constantly achieve in order to justify your existence, you never did. But you’re still breaking yourself over it."

She stops, turns, tears in her eyes by now, tries to keep it together. He takes a few steps towards her, palms open. Speaking loudly, marking every word.

"Rory, there’s nothing wrong with you! You’re just a person. And I fucking love you, so I guess I just wish you’d go easy on yourself!" He takes a deep breath, and sighs. "Cut us some slack.”

She stares at the ground, whimpering softly. She's out of words, even thoughts hurt. His arms enfold her moments later. Carefully at first, like he's expecting more fight. But there is none. The pressure and warmth escalate her cries, and she involuntarily clutches his shirt at the back, burying her face at his shoulder. He's quiet, rocking her slightly.

 

After a while she’s breathing normally, still in his arms. He breaks the embrace but takes her hand.

"Come on, let’s get back."

She’s exhausted when they finally get indoors and lies down on her back on the bed. She feels it shift as he follows her example. They’re silent. All sounds in the room is their breathing and the forest outside. She twists onto her side and nudges into him until he aligns his body with hers and slings his arm over her. It doesn’t take her long to drift off.

 

She dreams of a dark forest. The girl is gone, there's only her clunky self, chafing against who she wishes she could be, and she's tired, to the brink of her capacity. Trees surround her silently, and she’s stumbling down a path. She looks up, but there are no stars, no moon, the sky is a black blanket. She almost falls and is aware that someone is holding her hand. Someone who's walking ahead of her. She can't even see a back, just sense the movement. Then she can breathe. The narrow path becomes soft moss and the air cools from a body of water. The lake. Her grandfather stops. His presence looming in its silence. She still walks right into his tweed, so tired. And then there's just him holding her.

 

She wakes up with her face buried in Jess' shoulder, her body twisted. The room is murky, distinctly darker than before. He wakes with a gasp, she briefly wonders what he's been dreaming.

"What time is it?" She asks.

"Late. We should get out of here."

He gets up and heads outside. She starts packing her stuff. Moves on to empty the fridge and collect their trash. She shoves the bags in the corner next to the door and turns her attention to the bed and couch, still made up. She stands still for a strange second, blinks and a minute has passed. She uses the bedsheets as a bag, tying it around the rest of the cloth.

Jess enters and looks at her pile, reaches for the sheet in her hand, but stops in the middle of the motion.

"No," he says as if talking to himself, "you should take them home, I was never here."

Instead he grabs the trash bags and walks out to put them in his car. She drops the sheet and goes to use the bathroom.

 

When she gets out, everything is packed into their cars. Jess is on the driveway, holding out her jacket. She walks up to him and takes the garment. They stand for a few moments, just looking at each other. He finally breaks the silence.

"I’m sorry for projecting all my shit on you. It wasn’t fair. I’m not really in a position to take some high ground considering I’ve wanted this for a long time. And I've rarely cared about consequences." He sighs. "And, even if you’d been clear about your lack of intentions to begin with… I still would’ve done it." He smiles, with genuine warmth and glee, in stark contrast to the situation. It’s beautiful and it breaks her heart. "I wouldn’t have been able to resist."

He walks up to her and puts his hands on her face, leans in and kisses her until her knees shake. He pulls back.

"Follow me to Highway 91 at least, so you won’t get lost."

He gets in his car, while she still stands around. Empty. His engine starts and loud music of the Shoegaze variety blares from the car. A female singer blustering on about not wanting it to end. She blinks away tears and gets into her vehicle. On instinct she reaches into her bag to hook up her phone to her sound system, finding it discharged, of course, once more reminding her of the outlandishness of the past days. She switches on the radio instead, as well as her engine, heart heavy.

 

She follows him. An hour passes before they reach the highway, and by then it's dark. He takes the exit at a roadside diner, and she follows. Makes sense, they haven't eaten since this morning. They park the cars, he dumps the trash bags while he's at it and they walk inside in silence. He takes a booth, and she slides in next to him. They eat and drink coffee mostly without talking. Underneath the table they fidget with each other's hands. The compulsion is comforting. After a while he lifts her hand to his mouth, dragging her fingers over his lips. It's just for a moment, then he asks for the check.

 

She does follow him. Hour after hour. Has some time to consider things. Her thoughts return to the sweet and sour thing from yesterday. And for the first time she considers what she herself feels, outside mere sensations. Why does she need him to admit his feelings while she gets to run? It does seem cruel when she thinks on it. And it strikes her that maybe that dangerous vibe she keeps experiencing, is herself. The only scary thing about him, at least in this interaction, has been that he never flinches. But his strength allows him to both lead and follow. So, does she want to break him? Is that why she behaves this way? Why did she come here? Right, her grandfather, her crumbling world.

 

She thinks about her apartment, and Jess’ as well, on what he said, how he sounded when he said it. How she left her place, and she tries to imagine walking back into it. All at once she’s sobbing, and panics, so scared of what else could sneak up on her. She turns to the curb, and tries to stop with as much care as possible. She leans into the steering wheel, shaking. Eventually it subsides, and she’s pacing her breathing again. She looks up, through her windshield, and sees Jess and his car a couple hundred feet ahead, parked by the curb. He’s leaning on the trunk smoking, the ember of the lit end glowing in the dark, the smoke blue from the passing headlights. Waiting for her.

 

It’s not really a question of jumping or not, there’s not a choice, she’s already mid-air. Grabbing and scratching to survive, and he’s trying to catch her.

 

She starts her engine, and waits for him to step on the cigarette and get back in his car.

 

The last stretch is painful. She's tired of driving and feels like she in retrospect gladly would have left her car if it would have meant sitting in the passenger seat of Jess', feet on the dashboard, listening to loud music. All she has now are the area's hopeless radio stations playing songs on hook-ups and heartbreak, to be fair the music she might have listened to would have been about the same things, but at least she wouldn't have been able to tell. She also experiences a near physical resistance driving the familiar roads from the Hartford exit to Stars Hollow.

But then something happens. The lowered speed limits slow her down as well, and she feels her thoughts sharpen. She's unable to keep the comforting sense of home at arm's length as their cars enter her town. The turn taking her to her mother's house comes up, but she doesn't take it. Instead she keeps following him to the town square, where he parks by Miss Patty's. She stops her car behind his.

 

She gets out, stretches her legs with relief and takes a deep breath, inhaling the familiar scent of the town in late summer. He exits his car too. Walking to the back of it and stands there regarding her.

 

"Why’d you come here? Thought you were going to your mom’s, Luke’s."

"I didn’t want to-" she starts, but he interrupts.

"We’re good, Rory. We’ll always be good."

The strength of his words hit her, comforts her, and then she’s pissed.

"Would you shut up?" She stomps. "I swear, it’s like hanging out with my mom these days..."

He actually laughs.

"Your mom? Huh. At least no dude."

She bites the inside of her cheek to keep her concentration. It almost works.

"The original dudette, though." She lets out, and then clinches her fists, pushing her nails into her palms, to focus. Tries again. "I have something to say, and I may not be as quick as you, or even all there yet, but I need you to wait for me to get this out."

“Okay.”

 

He falls quiet and leans back on his car, and she straightens her back, looking around the square. Her home. Empty at the moment. She closes her eyes, and imagines it tomorrow buzzing with activity. She imagines sharing that with him, them sitting in Luke’s just like at the roadside diner. Hand in hand. She can’t do that without imagining everyone knowing. Her stomach flips at the thought, but she does feel it; it’s not all fear, it’s excitement also. The memory of her tossing herself into the lake flashes before her. And she imagines the alternative, for good measure; coming here tomorrow, finding his car gone. Anguish. She opens her eyes. He’s still standing in front of her, serious, expression shifting between curious and defensive. She sighs in relief, then takes shaky aim.

 

"So." She starts. “This happened."

"Yes." He confirms, gaze steady.

"And what are the odds of it happening again?"

"Without us actually trying? Pretty slim, I’d say, I’m not planning on another good deed for a good few years, and the chances of that coinciding with your next existential crisis-"

"What if we tried?"

"You mean-"

"Are you staying above the diner tonight?"

"Yeah."

"Can I stay with you?"

"What about your mom-?"

"See I have this nifty thing that I can plug in and charge and that will enable me to communicate remotely with a person of my choice. Verbally or via text.” She steps closer. He doesn’t smile at her joke, just looks vulnerable. She understands she might have to do blunt again, not her forte. She does it anyway.

“This thing between us…” She forces out the words, she’s never used them before, has to stare at the ground to manage. "I've been scared of it since day one, and I think you’ve always known that.” She looks back up, tries to do what she did at the lake, and raises her voice slightly so she can't back out. "It's big, and hasn't gone away, and after what happened I'm not sure it can, so… I’m scared, but, applying myself is the only way I’ve ever solved any problem. And I’m not in the best place emotionally. Well, let's be honest; I'm a professional and personal mess at the moment, but-“

He suddenly steps closer to her and locks eyes with her.

“If this is what you want, if you want me... You don’t have to convince me, Rory. I’m in.”

 

He looks happy, it's all in the warmth of the eyes. Her breath sounds like the combination of a sob and a laugh, but what she feels is relief. She reaches out and takes his hand, takes a stride up to him. He hesitates at the sound of steps approaching, but she grabs him firmly and kisses him. They never see who’s coming. It doesn’t matter.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rory's book is The Ocean at the End of the Lane by Neil Gaiman, and the song I had in mind for Jess' car is Swirl by Westkust.  
> Art at the top and bottom by fabulous fayevalcntine, who has a tumblr with more great aesthetics and other awesome things.


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